Decisions
I was disappointed to learn that I couldn’t have treatment on Wednesday - low platelets again. My oncologist suspects that this is in part due to the fact that my monthly visitor won’t go away. So I was referred to my girlie doctor to figure out how to remedy the situation. He gave me two options. The first is temporary - a shot in the arm every three months. The second is permanent - routine surgery. Here’s the kicker: the ‘temporary’ solution may in fact turn out to be permanent. It could send me sliding into menopause at the age of 35. My only legacy: a dog, a cat, and a couple of overweight horses.
When you’re first diagnosed with stage IV pancreatic cancer and given just a few months to live, there are some things that simply aren’t on your radar screen. Fertility is one of them. Sure, many cancer patients take precautionary steps in the hope of one day having a family. It was clear to me that the issue was never put on the table, never discussed, because I didn’t have a ‘one day’ in my future.
So, I had a decision to make and the doctor wanted that decision immediately. Temporary or permanent. But laying there, staring at a hideous mobile, I knew I was far from making that decision. I also knew that I needed to get the hell out of there.
I spent the next hour walking around a bookstore, weighing my options. I thought I had accepted the fact that I would never be a mother - I mean I’ve had more than a year to get over it - but my thoughts turned to all of things that I would be missing. I’d never get to spend nine months watching my tummy (and my ass) grow. I’d never get to feel embarrassed when unwrapping a breast pump. And I’d never get to complain to coworkers about the woes of teething.
The more I thought about the decision, the heavier it got. I wasn’t just making a decision about babies, I was deciding how I saw my future. Was I ready to take pregnancy out of the equation even though it remained one of my dreams?
A smarter person would’ve probably gone for the permanent option, but something inside me said that I wasn’t ready to give up just yet. Taking the permanent route almost seemed like I was guaranteeing that I would never have my ‘one day.’ Regardless of whether or not a pregnancy is in my future, I don’t ever want to take away the potential of it and if that means getting a shot every three months, then so be it.
So, after all that, I just hope my platelets appreciate the stress and anxiety they’ve caused me and maybe they’ll feel guilty enough to make an appearance next week.
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Tim and I exchanged puzzled looks and the doctor, sensing our confusion, repeated the question. ‘What did you do?‘ At first I thought it was rhetorical - as in what did I do to get cancer - but then I realized he was asking a fairly routine question. Looking back at it, the question itself wasn’t that confusing, it was the tense. There I was, wrapped in one of those Tyvek envelops they call a gown, glaring at the doctor because he used the past tense.